


And Sweet was the Smell of Spring

by Daastan_Go



Category: Naruto
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Language, Morbid, One-Sided Attraction, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:37:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daastan_Go/pseuds/Daastan_Go
Summary: She lost herself in the sweet season of spring.





	And Sweet was the Smell of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, and this is a free work of fiction written for personal pleasure.
> 
> Warning: Morbid Content. Reader discretion is advised.

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Spring's sun, benign, touched the blooming skin, washing away the burthen in a stream of bright light. Breaths of air laden with new flora, it was time for the wild spirit to be set free into the arms of primal callings.

Outside, ground was abloom—so many colours of pleasures, a feast for the eyes. Smells so sweet and enchanting, enticing the flesh and the slumbering animal to shudder and come forth—to take over this mortal coil in such mad ways.

But inside she lay wide open, thighs spread obscenely upon his knees, flesh blushing in the vocative candle light, lips and cheeks rose coloured in the ghastly flickers. A cold darkness sat upon the room, hiding her and him away.

Bled she had from the deep groove between her plump thighs one day, and trailed down her legs it had as an obscene show of that place's ripened state—red against soft-pink, an invitation to invade that place with hard strokes, leave the seed, and watch her belly grow . . . Nature was a cruel master—an invasion, a fate of her form.

And she had surrendered to him, her growing body akin to a man's imitation of a little nymph. He had bent over her and licked a wet line from tiny pebbles upon her breast to the tight, tight cunt right between her legs. It was moist and welcoming to take him in, lips swollen, fleshes open to show him that heated state for fucking.

Scents and fluids came from that place, and the still air soaked them up good to become a restless harlot in heat. Sweet. So sweet. So wild. Wood absorbed the groans, pink hair silent on the dirty planks.

A thin streamlet came down from the crack in the roof and fell upon her pronounced ribcage; it travelled between the shallow grooves, like roads, in her torso. Big hands, sure hands, drew sensations from the tense muscles in light strokes; and when it breached Nature's barrier sitting before the deeper passage to her womb, an infernal pool was drawn from her body . . . skin shivering, eyes stinging, cunt vibrating with repeated intrusions.

His white hair appeared grey in the dimming light—a spectre in the shadows. A haze came over her eyes and pleasure stung the cunt to press harder. He groaned, and in his deep eyes that shone with a strange attachment now, she saw not the boy she desired, but a man. The one with hair of gold on his head was too blundering for such an act—a fool, a nosy boy.

She could barely endure the grimace in his expression; he was pushing harder, with wild strokes, into her cunt to find contentment for his body. When it had risen from between his thighs, she had been surprised, afraid even; but now, her body welcomed the vibrations it enjoyed. Her heart did not; no, it feared and caved in upon itself, a fallen tomb, when it came to know of the mishap—she was too young to watch her belly swell for him! Thin lips had wrapped around the moist crown, taken all of him in to feel the hot shuddering thing slide back and forth inside her warm and smooth throat—a vulgar irrumation.

But the red in  _that_  boy's eye had tumbled into her dreams: it was a red she could fill her body and soul with such want, but it was a cold red. Her body ached and rejected the reveries she busied herself daily with—a silly girl's fancy as he walked ahead aloof in front of her, steps stiff and sure.

Breaths scalded her throat and tears went down her cheeks, her skin a scorching inferno of primal urgencies—release, cum, expel. Fluids sprung from his cock and filled her womb to its depths and pooled as white upon the dirty brown in the dark. She was his, marked like a whelp in weak moments of arousal, and she did not want to be his . . .

Her limbs started trembling, fighting, ears listening to the old house that yawned around her, and then her cry wore off in a collection of such primal screams that he had to put his hand over her glazed lips to silence her—she had cum . . . naughty, filthy, decadent creature. Such a rutting whelp in the season of heat and desire, but  _he_  was still not hers, yet it was spring . . .

Things had fallen into decay in this old, old house of longings. Then, as though trying to reject her thoughts of him, she proceeded on to her own room. Sheets lay rumpled on the bed. She had not been here in days—had not been here to glut her body with her pleasures.

A smell of neglect, dusted up by her feet, rose up from the wooden floor; she would have to clean this place come tomorrow. She flopped down onto the bed, which faced the mirror, and gazed at her reflection: an attractive young woman gazed back at her, her countenance affected by the usual emotions she was a thrall to.

Slowly, Sakura reached into her pocket and took out the phial of desire—it was so pink and shiny, like her hair. She removed the top, took a whiff of it, and placed the top back on. A sensation rushed through her, and her mind flashed into a black-out. All colours vanished, and the phial dropped from her shivering hands to fall upon the floor with a soft clink.

She fell onto her right side, eyes still on the mirage in the mirror, hand reaching between her thighs in search of her pleasures. Then, from the side, an airy shadow moved into the mirror—such a beautiful mien, white and perfect. He laid his hand on her stomach, other hand trailing down to locate the source of her pleasures; and it was throbbing there still.

Colours moved across the ceiling, and such a lovely intrusion split her open from her flesh down to the soul: rhythm, beauty, colours. An explosion of lights and scents, and nothing was as profound as the core that took a part of him in, so that he was her and she, him.

Upon the air, smells vibrated, smells of rot and dank neglect. Pipes rusted through, metal bent, wood hollow, such was the state of things in her mind: it was all heavy decay and light festering—in the walls and rooms. But safe she was, feeling undulations deep in her flesh from the intrusions. And it dripped upon the floor, blood of maidens and men alike, but this time, it were colourless, viscous strings of pleasure.

Deeper his finger went, worming into the slimy wetness to touch the damp walls of secrets, but in the end, everything was just a shapely smudge upon the mirror—belief and make-believe toys of illusions; and she whispered, enamoured, bewitched, stupefied by poisons and him, finger slick and quick in its motions: "S-Sasuke . . . "

Yes, sweet was the smell of spring he exuded—always—in her mind, her memories, her desires. Then,  _finally_ , she was undone . . .

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**The End**

 


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